


Wretched Little Angels

by xHonestSecretsx



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Dark, Dark Fantasy, F/M, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Fantasy, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 08:46:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16869838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xHonestSecretsx/pseuds/xHonestSecretsx





	1. Chapter I: Mistake

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The contortion made your body ache. Bent in half with your legs cuffed to this plank, hands at your sides in shackles. Your sweet grey plaid skirt had fallen away, revealing the lacy underwear you had. Cute, Hvitserk thought. Especially with the pink bows that kept the panties in place on either side. Yes, you were an adorable quivering mess under a loud buzzing deep within your cunt, causing your cramped body to shake like a limp noodle, drool spilling from the corners of your mouth as he sat appreciatively watching your body wrack in pleasure.

It was nothing personal.

In fact this wasn’t your fault– no, it wasn’t at all. It was your fathers. He had been a sore pain in the Ragnarsson’s ass. The very port of Kattegat which he commanded a force to protect from the import and export of heavy drugs was the main source of income for their family. If your father wanted to fuck with his family, Hvitserk would fuck with his. The burner phone sat in his hand as he mused himself with your father’s pleading. Or at times, his raging.

_I’ll chop off your fucking dick when I find you!_

He had said in response to a photo sent. But Hvitserk only laughed, thrusting himself off of his chair as he lazily walked around you, hoodie tight on his chest. He slips his fingers over your panties, batting it away from your soaked hole. With a cherry lollipop in one hand, he dips it into your cunt to swipe up your juices. Then he replaces it back into his mouth, speaking around his treat.

“You see that?” Hvitserk laughs at the little text message the plipped up on his phone, shaking it you mockingly. “He says gonna chop off my dick when he finds you. If he finds you.”

Hvitserk abandons the phone beside the cold concrete floor, slipping up to examine his work with your cunt. The vibrating toy was soaked but somehow still fought him pulling out. Your walls were desperate for the friction– Hvitserk laughs, digging in his pocket for a set of weighted balls. He replaces the toy with the balls, only needing to push slightly for them to be devoured by your sweet hole.

“You wanna help Daddie? Help devour my dick?” Hvitserk looks to your eyes, glimmering in some sort of hot lust. Oh but you fought that for hours. Fighting the hooded man with the tight brunette bun, molding his hand over his stained jeans. He unzips his pants, retrieving his cock out into the cool air. Folded so tightly you couldn’t see him– but you could sure as hell feel him grasping your hips. He glides his tip against your entrance, nudging soaking himself in your slick as he pushes forward.

The angle at which he penetrated you sent your cunt into an aching overdrive. The balls were so deep, shifting as Hvitserk immediately began to move, using your hips to steady his thrusts. The weighted balls glide against your walls that keep Hvitserk so tight in your cunt, massaging him and you both as you squeeze.

“I don’t think you’ll be much help to your father!” He rasps a laugh, groaning with every thrust of his hips in and out, snapping his hips harshly against your ass. Your ass shakes, rippling against his hips as he moves. He notes how you moan against your gag, drooling over the floor as he fucks you. Shamefully you enjoy his attention and it only causes Hvitserk pleasure to feel you clenching his girth to keep him inside. An intoxicating mix of shame and pleasure, you receive his thrusts like any of the well trained little prostitutes he had on 4th and Cherry street.

“Look at you!” Hvitserk roars. “You want to be ruined!”

Your hands scratch into your skin, biting almost with frustration. Though, Hvitserk isn’t sure if its for freedom or to rock that awesome little ass back onto his hips. He swore you were trying to! He scratches down over the curve of your ass when he hears it– the shout around his gag deep in your mouth and the clenching that catches him by such surprise, he drops his lollipop. He hadn’t really expected you to do this, to give into the black hole of pleasure that devoured you whole by Hvitserk’s plunging cock that ground those balls into the best of places within you.

The elder Ragnarsson groaned, hammering his hips to finish himself off. He moans shamelessly, spurting his thick seed within your aching walls. The gag held back any of your moans as he fills you, but instead, your neck cranes so hard stars pop into your vision in beautiful speckles. You’re not sure if you’ve passed out from the tension of your muscles, but relief quickly is granted to you when your bindings are loosened, legs no longer folding you over like a sandwich.

“Can’t you fucking control yourself a few hours?! Shit. Let’s go. Hurry up with the girl.” A thick, guttural voice said. Hvitserk picks up his candy beside you, lurching over to yank you up as you roll from your place on the ground. There’s no fight left in your bones and you lazily bat at him, something he finds adorable.

“Got ‘er.” He says. As you disappear through the door– you have to wonder where Hvitserk Lothbrok and his brothers are taking you next.


	2. Chapter II: Mea Culpa

The windows of the car were dark and outside was more of the same. Dark wood of far stretching trees whizzed by as Hvitserk drove into the night. You weren’t altogether sure where. Only that it was getting farther and farther away from where you knew, because Kattegat’s safe harbour was drifting into the distance.

“You had to fucking nut in her?” The other figure was shadowed in his black hoodie, glaring to the back of the truck where you were. His eyes more piercing to Hvitserk’s, menacing even. Your shoulder barreling against the door, wincing with every slam that proved fruitless. Hvitserk slides his tongue around the deep red lollipop in his mouth, rolling it against pearly white teeth and plush pink cheeks. It ends up taut between cheek and teeth.

“What’s her Big Daddie gonna do?” Hvitserk shrugs his shoulders. He abandoned the burner phone back there. Now on the move yet again, there was another phone in his fingers, taking a moment to flick the phone at his little brother. “Shoot me?”

Ivar looks to Hvitserk. “Don’t be stupid.” He snaps.

“I’m just saying. What can he really do?” Hvitserk glances over his shoulder to where you are fiddling with the handle out of the car. His seed smears under your ass, soaking into the interior fabric.

“She’s staining Bjorn’s shit.” Ivar remarks. He rolls the metal of his lighter against a menthol cigarette, coughing when you lurch over, claws into the metal gate separating your bodies. Your nails curl.

“Bjorn Helgasson?!” You snarl out, but your voice cracks midway through the words. Ivar pulls in a long drag of his cigarette, leans over his shoulder and puffs it into your face. You break into a fit of coughs, slinking to a corner of the dark interior. Your shoulder was bruising rather heavily but you had a feeling that was nothing compared to what you would have coming.

“Ragnarsson.” He corrects.

You knew the man. Your father often coded him– Ironside. On all the documents, Ironside was listed as the one that was leading a part of the gang. But the other vast part was lead by another. Boneless, Daddie said was appearing more and more. Boneless because he left nothing but sloshy remains in acidic treatment. Some people rumoured he was a cannibal in other cases.

Bjorn Helgasson was the rat.

When the car rolled to a rocky stop, you hadn’t noticed. Your heavy eyelids were lavished with sweet celestial dreams of, you guessed it, nothing. A blank, empty space where you were neither here nor there. You were suspended in time but like all good things, it came to a swift end when the door abruptly slammed open. Your head drops, knocking on the frame of the door and you meet a pair of stormy eyes. This one had eyes that were more like the shape of yin and yang. His pupils streak.

“I hate it when they’re pretty.” He looks over to Hvitserk as he reaches in to yank you out. Off set by the first’s words, your nails dig into Bjorn’s leather interior, squeaking the whole way out of the truck.

“She’s feisty Sigurd!” Hvitserk howls.

The blonde knows that much, and, he knows that when you crack him in the eye; he’s bleeding. Oh! The boys cackle. Sigurd flinches a moment when you drop to the ground away from him. Jagged rocks prick your palms under crispy orange leaves, plucking up one to chuck at his head. 

“She’s getting away, Sigurd.” Ivar mocks.

You throw yourself over on the leaves, limbs were like jello. Suddenly you’re too aware of how much of a pretzel Hvitserk had made you earlier when your legs fail you, crashing in front of a pair of scuffed, dark brown boots.

“What are you boys doing?” His voice was almost too deep, ragged like a father’s would be. He reaches down to pull your hair like a choker or the skin at the back of a kitten’s nape, raising you onto two feet. A thick, icy dread spears you open when the mystery man grasps your jaw and angles your face toward him.

“Do you want to end up dead?” He tilts his head slowly, searching your face for the weakness you had earlier in Hvitserk’s arms. Suddenly, compared to this wolf, Hvitserk didn’t seem so bad. This man had eyes as wild as the others, but different. It was as if he had something to protect, and that alone, frightened you more than Ivar’s wit.

“We were just having fun, Ubbe.” Hvitserk says, spinning in a small circle around the thick columnar like trees that arch into the night sky. Ubbe shoots his younger brother a look of ill temperament. His eyes like stones set in an otherwise unaffected face.

“Take her inside.”

He shoves you in Hvitserk’s direction. Sigurd nearly trips you as he gets back up to his feet, fists clenched in humiliation and something… unresolved. You promptly fall from sore, achy bones and crawl in a manner that reminds Ivar of himself… once upon a time.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You pant. Safe, safe, safe. Hvitserk curves his back down when you cling to his clothy knees.

“Aw she likes me.” Hvitserk beams with pride. You suck your breath in over and over, hyperventilating as he bops the back of your head. He slides his hands underneath your arms to pull you up.

“Don’t get too attached.” Ivar says, his crutch guiding him back to a large cabin. In the middle of the woods at that. It’s planks are sturdy and thick. The roof overgrown with moss and viny plants that are as deceptive as their purple blossoms were beautiful. The windows may have burned with the hearth inside lit aflame, but you knew better than that. Inside was a warm, large fireplace.

In the middle of the fireplace– a man. But not just any man; it was Bjorn Helgasson. His massive muscles shifting when he heard his brothers all pool into the room. The car outside turns over. Someone is moving it.

“(Y/N).” His voice an even and pleased lilt.

How he can speak to you as he used to in such a grave situation baffles you. You were destitute of hope in ever escaping this place and yet here he was, in full uniform. Pure black with gold embellishments. His badge glittering on his chest: Captain Bjorn Ironside. One time a hostage negotiator.

“My Daddie trusted you.” You say first and foremost, using a large leather couch to steady yourself. Boy is it hard to waddle against this cushiony thing too. Bjorn slides his hat off of his head, flicking it off to the side. His cold face reads that it is your father’s mistake for having friends. Friends that apparently sent their brothers after you.

Bjorn shifts to a small cooler. “He violated an agreement.” He explains as he pulls out a bottle of water rippling with condensation.

“What agreement?” You look to him as he offers the bottle to you. A ephemeral pause quickly lapses before you take the water. What use were you to them dead? You sip some, hands coming back over the warm baby pink hoodie that you tug over your grey skirt.

“He keeps the harbour clear, we leave the police alone.” Bjorn sits with a grunt, his thumb to the header of a blotchy newspaper. The other brothers have cleared to other areas, but it isn’t as if you don’t feel them looking at you in interest. From Ubbe to Ivar, they all whisper among one another.

Captain Aethelwulf announces crackdown on drug affiliated companies, on Wednesday. The headline read. That one line explained it all. You pluck up the paper, hands trembling when he comes behind you gripping both shoulders in his large hands.

“I think your Grandfather said it best.” He grins. “Mea culpa.”

You want to be strong. For him. Bjorn’s fingers slide away from your shoulders, downing his beer straight. He collapses on the couch beside you, drawing his hat over his eyes. “Good night, (Y/N). I’d sleep before I leave.”

Once Bjorn left, you would be all on your own. Judging from Hvitserk’s cheeky smile at the table across the cabin, he has something on his mind. He wasn’t the only one.


	3. Chapter III: The Snake

It was like being a child.

Playing tag and looking for a base to call when things got too risky. Bjorn was your base. This was the one place where you could be safe: on the couch, laying upon his chest and pretending that you were asleep. Of course that didn’t really escape Ubbe who lazily took up a roll of bread and pushed himself off of the dining room table where the brothers played a lazy game of cards. The sway in his step bounced creaky floorboards, alerting you that someone was coming closer.

“What is it?” Hvitserk laughs smoothly. A small pressure against your strands of hair says that Ubbe’s pulling on your strands. You feign a little sleep kissed moan.

“She’s pretending.” Ubbe whispers– and sweat could have run down your back in fear of what he might do.

“So what if she is? What are you so afraid of?” Ivar reclines back onto his with a solid creak of his chair. Ubbe’s hand relinquishes its tight grip on your hair.

“She’ll try to run.” Ubbe grunts. Then his attention wavers. “Who is staying up tonight?” He pulls away from your side. His large, lingering presence thankfully slips away. Ivar straightens as if to say he will when Sigurd interrupts him.

“I’ll do it.” He shuffles the card with a rippling slap.

Ivar shifts within his chair. “You aren’t going to lose her again?” He picks.

“I’ll be fine.”

You knew that Sigurd and Ivar were a pair you shouldn’t be alone with from that instant forward. At some point, you fell asleep. You weren’t sure if it was before or after the point Sigurd accused Ivar of cheating or the food flinging across the dining room table, but you had. When you awoke, the cabin was thickly dark. Hvitserk had fallen asleep on a smaller couch– and you kind of wonder how he could sleep with his neck crooked on the leather armrest. Ubbe and Ivar were nowhere to be seen. Besides the large living room and tucked away kitchen, there were other rooms that you had yet to explore.

“Restless?” The blonde boy says. His nappy blonde hair is messy with braids. More than anything, he looks like a fluff ball. He must have caught you peeping up to see if the coast was clear. Sigurd, you thought Hvitserk had called him, seemed to be a wildcard. He certainly didn’t look scary but looks could be very deceiving.

“A little.” You murmur sliding off your place on Bjorn. “Tired?”

He folds his arms one over another, skeptical of the reason you were asking him such a thing. Obviously it was to coerce him to go to bed. He says nothing at first, but as you muster the courage to stand up, his attention falls to the dirty skirt and hoodie. You pull the bottom of your skirt over your ass, following Sigurd’s eyes glazing at the hem of your skirt.

“No.” He answers at last. “Are you?”

Always.

“It’s a little suffocating in here.” You murmur, looking about the dark planks that covered the walls. It was definitely aged as if it had stood here for years. Sigurd’s chair scratches the floor as he stands up. His boots carry him to the door.

“It always is.” He responds just as aptly, pulling it wide apart.

Fresh air wafts into the room smelling as sweet as the fresh sweet bread that Aethelred used to bring you home from the bakery. The forest is lively, the animals brought to life by the change of light to dark and you– feel freedom creep closer and closer to your fingers.

“You want to go outside.” Sigurd says, pushing open the screen. You feel as if it’s a trap and don’t advance any further. After all… if it is a trap, he would expect you to go for it. Sigurd offers out his hand toward you after popping the lock. 

“Do you want to stay with Ubbe?” He suggests.

Fuck if you don’t want to trust him. He looks… trustable. Despite your better judgement, you take his hand. Because anything is better than staying with the hunter– or the wolf. Sigurd leads you forward into the room before following out of the enclosed space. The car has moved; you’re not sure where.

“What is this place?” You ask.

Sigurd holds a hard look in his eyes. “My father’s cabin.”

There’s no other distinguishing information. You aren’t sure what of good you’ve heard of Ragnar Lothbrok. Only that he was a witty man that evaded Ecbert, Aelle and most irritatingly to your father– him.

Rounding the back of the cabin and into the loud woods, you find that the chrome of Bjorn’s car glistens just slightly. Less so when your cheek hit the deep indigo of the truck with a forceful slam, billowing pain through your arteries. There’s a harsh shuffling behind you with Sigurd’s hand deep in your hair.

“You made a fool of me.” Sigurd’s long braids and frizzy waves fall over his shoulder as he leans over you. Dread, pure unadulterated anguish fills you when you hear an unraveling of plastic that causes you to thrash– hard under his hips that cement you against the truck. He wrenches your panties down your sore thighs in one fluid motion

“I was just trying to get away!” You exclaim. The blond doesn’t respond and in the place of words, you feel the lubrication feeding off of the thin, plastic covering burning inside of your well abused walls.

Another Ragnarsson– you punch out the ache on the truck, scrambling against its paint with your nails clenching tight. His scruffy, itchy blonde facial hair rubs at your neck as his teeth sink into your nape, a hand shifting under your dirty hoodie to grasp at your lacy bra. Smoothly he thrusts forward and not so smoothly, you wail another shout. Your cunt squeezes and squeezes as if trying to push him out of your warm walls.

“It wasn’t on purpose!”

Moans stream from his lips. There was nothing you could do but protest his fingers rolling your nipple between his fingers, or weakly tug at the hand that had slipped in between the junction of your legs to your smooth mound. Sigurd’s thick fingers clumsily massage down your slit, the sear of his erection pumping in to hilt time after time.

“It doesn’t matter.” He huffs over your neck. “You ran.”

He hilts deep, pausing long enough to push your hair away from your face. His lips stroke against beads of rolling tears. “Now,” He withdraws– pumping straight back in with his static words. “After we’re done with you, I might just keep you.”

Gods, no. If you thought the most quiet of the boys was safe– what would men like… Ubbe be? His thick girth presses deep within your cunt, milking him of his sweet seed with every stroke of his hips. It won’t be long, and yet, he forces an orgasm out of your fingers with his thick rolling digits. He shoves you into the grill, smooth fluid slipping from your clenching cunt by the mere pressure of his body in yours.

It wasn’t you, you think. This was nature. A pure, mechanical response to a curved cock that smoothed over the best of places. His fingers like dark oil to a creaking machine. He mangles out a hard shout, thick ropes of his seed pushing out of the plastic covering that once covered his silken tip.

“Hm, so the condom might have popped.” Sigurd pulls his cock out of your clenching walls that beg him to stay– dripping pearly seed from your lips. “That isn’t the only thing that popped. Did you cum on Bjorn’s car?” He’s laughing, hand harsh on the middle of your back.

Another Ragnarsson’s seed is slipping down your thighs. Your father… what would he have said? Done? You feel shamefully thick with guilt. Father always said that these men were from the devil– and you had taken their seed twice by the spasms of your sweet cunt.

Their hips, the harshness of their fingers… the pleasure and pain that came with this horror. It was sweetly made. That horrified you and despite Sigurd’s planning for a harsh response, he hadn’t expected you to fight him again. You snap the hold on his back with all the force you could muster, jabbing him in the temple with your elbow so harshly he staggers off to the side for just moments, tucking away his cock with a ‘fuck!’ that rumbles through the forest.

When he recovers, its all curses. You slip under the car, crawling underneath to reemerge on the other side. Sigurd paces one way– then another, trying to locate which line of bushes you slipped into. Somewhere along the line, your panties were abandoned. I lost her! Against a strong oak you hear the boots against soaked leaves. Your toes curl in their thin socks against muddy forest floor.

“I know. I’ll find her.”

A deep rumble. The hunter. Ubbe.


	4. Chapter IV: The Hunter

He’s not human, he’s not human!

Your mind races with the thought as you fell over your steps through the brush of the forest. Itchy, cracked leaves Velcro under your foot with branches. The once cute socks were utterly ruined in this fruitless chase. Your fingers mucky with the mud and rock that crawled under the nailbeds. The wild, rippling howls surrounding you became louder and louder against your eardrum that reverberate the signals inside of your inner ear. There were wolves… but none as chilling as the clicking of the hunter. His boots made a distinct squash and twist, one that you knew you wouldn’t forget easily.

Because he was close. He was close by the slap of his thick braid, the draw of an arrow against the wooden hearth of its bow. Harsh ragged breathing almost snuffing yours out as you shoved yourself against a tree– praying to god and the demons below that he wouldn’t catch you… or smell you. Whatever it was that the hunter was about to do had your nerves firing rapidly.

You’re fucked! You’re fucked! You’re fucked!

The leaves cease their crackling and so suddenly, you hear him hiss under his breath. Everything was deep forest green, muddy brown and darker than the night above you. It began to chill. Then a sudden whizzing burst through the howls of the night, an arrow embedding in the bark most laterally to your right.

“Enough running.” His voice falls low and deep. The words have an opposite effect. You twist your foot behind the tree knowing you have but seconds of reprieve before he would take the arrow across the bow once more. “You have nowhere to go.”

Anywhere but back with you.

The cum was still staining your thighs when you fell. Ha! That would show him! You could always so elegantly tumble your ass down a hill– and into a muggy ditch. You know that you’ve sprained something when you pull yourself up from the bottom. Ubbe hovers along the edge, bow drawn in your direction.

You’re fucked now. You’ve made your own death place. The perfect place to be easily covered by crisp autumn leaves after the wolves have had their pick.

The seconds that follow show no arrow in your back. The hunter stands cliffside, lowering his weapon and replacing the arrow back into its quiver. It was confusing enough before. But if you thought that was confusing– there was a whistle.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” Breath is beside your face. “What hole have you fallen into now, little bitch?”

The voice has a certain trill. A familiar one– your eyelids crease under the pressure of your facial nerves. Your eyes loosen to open. Through the dappled light, this new man’s face is semi-illuminated. You hear Ubbe’s boots maneuvering the ditch side behind you.

“He’s chasing me!” You look into his worn eyes tricky by the kiss of kohl.

“Of course he is.” Floki pats your shoulders of dirt, fingers twisting delightfully. As if he drew pleasure from the panic on your face. “But you could have been caught by the other wolf. What a shame that would have been.”

Lucky?! You consider luck to be a thing of getting that beautiful first date, running your lips against his in a warm kiss. Luck to be something of finding abandoned money or the last chocolate at church when Father made you stay six hours up and down, up and down your chair. But this?

Never. Your leg protests its motion to hobble forward. The foreigner cackles in hysteria at your pitiful motion to escape, grasping your flimsy thin hoodie in his hands to keep you in place. Wolf… wolf… the wolf of Kattegat.

“Who?” You attempt to ask. A tension at the base of your nape tells you that the hunter has caught up with you, rolling your hair in a leash around his thick fist like a bitch on a leash. Your hands flimsily reach up to support the hand on your head.

“Sigurd lost her.” Ubbe speaks. If you had looked ahead you would have noticed Floki’s truck blocking a cabin. One of dark wood and just slightly, you can making out a billowing of warmth under fall candlelight. Behind the waving of curtains, you swear you can make out another figure. Floki looks with deadpan regard towards Ubbe.

“You shouldn’t make it a habit, Ubbe. What if he finds out?” He says while raising his fingers toward your neck. Its all too suddenly dark. The light streaming in through patchy forest snuffs out.

When you awake again, it’s to a familiar ache– like with Hvitserk. The rope sear your wrists with welts, burns and cuts. You have no doubt that you’ll be feeling these burns for days. That is, if you could escape out of these ropes in the first place. His hips were the darker of his pains, giving you slow but deep thrusts that bounced your hips on his.

“Are you going to run again?”

He knows your awake. As if you could sleep with his cock spreading your walls wide, deep plunging thrusts spearing through your cunt. “Are you?” He tightens his hold, tugging your hair with another sharp well placed thrust that goes deep. You feel him bottoming out at the end of your abused, aching hole. Your hands twist against the ropes connecting hands to legs, but there is nowhere to run. He has you.

With no answer however, his hands form a collar around your throat. Breath snuffs out of your lungs, realizing that he’s plunged in as far as your cervix. He has no deeper to go– and it makes him growl even harder. His hand constricts and constricts knowing that you’re only after air. Only small intervals of opportunity to breath are supplied. Finally, you find yourself able to make out words that burn through your throat.

“Noooo, I’m sorry.” You shriek. He releases you, shoving your head into the pillow and taking your hips into his large hands. The prints of his fingers against your hips will echo far into the next day– if not the stretch of his impressive girth in the warm hole he shared with his brothers.

“Of course you are.” He hisses, the deepness of his voice sending chills up your spine. “But I’ll drag you right back.”

In that moment, the pressure of his orgasm over takes him with a harsh growl. His warm seed would pour deep inside of your overused cunt and yet again, your face cringes upon the bedsheets unable to stop the beast above you. Your wrists are somewhere near your dirty ankles, rope and bar binding them together in an exposed position.

As his orgasm crests and breaks, Ubbe relinquishes hold on your hips and slides out. Like Hvitserk– you assume, he would leave you be. A small, relieved smile fills your features, but just as promptly falls. A fraction of a second later, the slide of something clearly heavy is outweighed by the pressure against your ass that breaches fully forward. In a swift motion your previously unused hole is filled by the foreign object.

“How does running away feel?” Ubbe’s voice is inky with derision. Your voice chalks with gasps. Ones that Ubbe has no patience for, tilting the base around to spread your hole around the phallic object.

“How does it feel?!” He reaffirms.

“Bad!” You say. “I won’t do it again! Please take it out!”

He chuckles heavily behind you. Clearly, he doesn’t believe you. Who would? In the moment, however, Ubbe pulls it out then forward. For minutes he fucks you with the toy, enjoying the blood that seeps out of your abused hole and more importantly– the rich screams. He knows his brothers have rustled awake.

“You should know, (Y/N).” Ubbe lurches over you, cheek mistakenly intimate against your sweat slicked, mucky hair. There’s dirt and mud all over you, worn from your day of running and running. Fruitless running.

 

“You have a purpose for me. I want you to live up to it. But… unlike Hvitserk… it’s personal.” He trills, low and deep. “So I won’t hesitate to kill you.”

You had to believe him. Eagerly you nod, desperate for the ache of torn vessels to be relieved. Ubbe is pleased enough with your response, reaching for sticky tape to anchor his new toy into place. Then, just like that, he disappears through the oak doorway.


	5. Chapter V: I'm HUNGRY!

The sheets smell like musk.

They must be Ubbe’s. Among the sweat of your run and his raging fuck, you caught his scent. One of sweat… but teased with the odour of an expensive cologne, peppery and rich. It’s a healthy distraction from the fullness that numbs your ass with whatever it was Ubbe decided to sodomize you with. Your cheek rests against the downy pillow, eyelids beginning to feel heavy once more.

The door behind you creaaaaaaaaks long and hard, swishing against the hardwood floors. Whoever comes in does so with gentle steps.

“You ran, didn’t you?” You recognize the voice as belonging to the mouseish one. Hvitserk. “It’s only been the first day with my brothers.”

The bed obnoxiously creaks as Hvitserk climbs upon it, dropping back on one of the pillows with his hands behind his head. “You must have ran for Ubbe to leave you like this.” Hvitserk rolls onto his side, letting his fingers tap the base of the strange object inside of you, held by heavy duty tape.

“Like what?” You roll your face on the pillow to look at Hvitserk.

“Like one of Dad’s cows.”

Do you want to ask what that means? You gulp hard, rolling your tongue out over your cracked lips.

“Don’t worry, if you were a cow, you would definitely be a private cow.” Was that supposed to make you feel better? You turn your head from him, setting it on a fluffy pillow. Hvitserk shifts over you.

“Aww, c’mon babe… don’t be like that. You’ll be the prettiest one there.” He says, looking your body over. “You must be hungry. I’m moody when I’m hungry too.”

He talks a lot more than you remember. When he isn’t with his brothers, he seems to be much more outgoing. Or perhaps that was in comparison to his other brothers… the crazy one, Ubbe and the mystery one that was Ivar. You don’t find Sigurd quite that bright.

“Why are you here?” You ask. “It’s kind of hard to sleep with you yapping in my ear.”

Hvitserk beams a healthy smile at you. It’s partially enraging to you how damn happy he looks. Like a puppy– when he was really as much of a wolf as the other brothers.

“It’s morning, little dove.”

Morning already? By now, you think, father would have been looking for Bjorn. Knowing him, he would already be three steps ahead of father. You have hardly gotten enough sleep but apparently that didn’t work either. Hvitserk drops back behind you, peeling the adhesive tape with a sharp snap of his wrist.

“Fuck!” You shril.

No matter to Hvitserk, he’s sliding off the plush sheets with the tape in hand– placing it in a particular receptacle.

“I hate you fuckers.”

The Ragnarsson laughs, sitting on the edge of the bed this time. “Do you know how to cook? Mother could never cook even before Aunt Siggy showed up.”

You feel him tweaking whatever obscure object Ubbe had jammed so far up your ass, you could almost feel its fleshy surface poking out of your throat.

“Of course I can cook. What kind of woman can’t cook?” You say.

“Trophy wife.” He answers. “Make me something. I bet you look cute in an apron.”

“You’re insane.” You balk at him.

Here you were, bound like a dog with your ass in the air and he was talking about aprons and breakfast. You’re not sure what to think of this boy. Relief suddenly fills your stomach when the object nestled deep in your ass is pulled free.

“Maybe.” Hvitserk lifts his hips up, pulling something free from his pocket. Good, bad or otherwise– you can’t really tell. His thumb runs against it and a small puff fills the air. It comes suddenly. The small string searing your back is quickly joined with another– then another. You hiss underneath Hvitserk as the beads harden. Your shoulders tense with each little drop, turning your head over your shoulder to look at him with a rather easy melt candle. It’s long and red, glistening with wax pouring down its expanse. It cools quickly, hardening atop of your skin.

“But a man can’t live on cherry lollipops and pussy forever. If I could, I would.” He chides. He drifts lower, hot drops of wax spilling over the curve of your spine to your ass.

“You’re burning me for food?!” You hiss.

“I would do a lot for food.”

The next moment, Hvitserk spreads your ass, letting his wax spill between your cheeks. A harsh squeal spills through the room. Hvitserk hums delightfully, letting his thumb and middle finger open you up some.

It burns. Oh it burns.

“Fuck fine!” You bark out, “I’ll do it, just stop!”

Hvitserk hums, flipping the candle up in his slender fingers and blowing out the flame. His nimble fingers unwind the binds Ubbe had in place. “Great! Now let’s go shower.”

Your limbs were protesting any movement once so ever. You went limp in his arms, hanging on like a limp towel as the youngest Ragnarsson carried you into the bath. He picks at the bits of dry wax on your naked body once placing you on the bath, fetching something under the deep brown wooden sink. You hear the distinct noise of a plastic drawer opening. He pulls forth a clean razor– and nightmarishly enough for you, he pulls free the filthy clothes off of your body. Your hands snap to your breast and pubic region as if to cover yourself.

“No point in clothes, anyway. It’s not like one… two… three brothers haven’t had you.” Hvitserk laughs, yanking your wrist and pulling you up. “And its only been the first few days. Now, hurry and shower before Bjorn and Ivar come to give you the full set!”

As he supplies the razor to you, you snap off the plastic top. A clean, smooth razor that supplies you with a host of ideas. A flick of your wrist and it could be over– you could be free. But what would that mean for your brothers? Alfred and Aethelred… they were most certainly still looking for you if your father was. You look down at it a fraction of a second too long.

Hvitserk pushes you into the warm tub, leaning back on the lid of the porcelain toilet. The tub seems just as old with a creamy curtain that separates your bodies. Hvitserk twists the plastic with a whizz over the pole above.

“Shave it all. Don’t get any ideas, either.” He flicks his head at you, flipping up the warm burgundy top he wears. That bulge underneath was most certainly the sheath to a bulging black gun. “You’re cute. I like you, (Y/N). I’d hate for your brothers to go missing, too. They don’t have a pretty pussy to play with. They won’t fucking last.”

So you bathe, quickly so. The bath has a strange body wash of a floral body wash, light and sweet. It couldn’t be any of the boy’s. It had to be someone else’s.. But who would really date one of these boys? They were all insane!

“It was my mom’s.” Hvitserk interjects. “Once upon a time.”

“Mother… liked this smell too.”

Hvitserk chuckles. “Smaller town then we thought, (Y/N).”

The rest of the bath is uneventful. You try not to say a thing as he picks on you through the entire thing– telling you just how he liked it. It’s a double edged sword. On one hand, you never wanted to spend time with any of the Ragnarssons. On the other, at least it wasn’t Ubbe sitting on the toilet watching you bathe and shave your sensitive skin. At the end of it all, Hvitserk was far too delighted to make you clean your mess.

At some point, he marched your naked ass into the kitchen to make him breakfast which is kinda hard on the black heels he gave you– and a stringy black thong that nestles realllllly uncomfortably between your cheeks. He pulls himself in back of your body as you pull a knife and he assists in guiding the cuts through Hvitserk’s favourite: plump cherries.

“What are you going to make me, hm?” He whispers in your ear.

“Pancakes… with cherries. Maybe bacon, I guess.” You answer, wishing that you could cut a piece thick enough that he might choke.

“Not strawberries?” He asks. Hvitserk did keep an unlikely amount of fruit in the fridge.

“You’re always chewing on cherries.”

He laughs– you were right, he was. “You know that from the few days you’ve known me?”

It’s painfully domestic. As if he had pulled up beside you to ask your number, take you on a date and whisper all the pretty things in your ear to bring you home. Realistically, you have to know that your seizure was nothing of the sort. Less than a hour ago he was burning your ass with hot wax.

“Are you playing house with her again?” You know that voice– its the hunter. Ubbe walks into the kitchen. Hvitserk turns, beaming a smile on his hungry lips.

“She knows how to cook.” Hvitserk notes as if they have been eating fresh things that didn’t need cooking or frozen and boxed meals. Ubbe’s forearms rest upon the countertop, watching you all too closely.

“She’s here to attract Aethelwulf, Hvit.” He looks up to his brother, forehead wrinkling. Hvitserk shifts behind you, scooping a bit of butter in his hands. You briefly wonder what for when you suddenly are reminded of the sort of men you deal with. Your hole tears again with Hvitserk shoving his cock with nothing but butter as his lube inside of your walls.

“Don’t mean that I can’t have fun until!” Hvitserk’s hands comes down upon your ass. You inhale sharply. “You got the phone?”

Ubbe’s small smile pulls up the facial hair above his lip. He flicks another burner phone at Hvitserk. Both of the brothers exchange amused smiles, Hvitserk more so. Your fingers tighten around the knife in your fingertips.

“Is Ivar ready to start?”

Ubbe only nods.


End file.
